


Self-Inflicted

by Torra



Category: Die Hard
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torra/pseuds/Torra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's being held at gunpoint yet again, and this time he takes a page from the McClane handbook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Inflicted

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of language in this one, and some violence, though not graphic. Thanks to MathMusician for her Beta skills, and whatever mistakes remain are, as ever, my own.

"Any last words, Boy?"

The gun dug more sharply into his neck, pushing into his jugular. Matt groaned and looked towards John, still tied up and bloody in the chair. John shook his head, "Don't you _dare_, kid."

"Well? Last chance, Boy. You got any thing left to say to your sugar daddy?" The guy laughed manically in Matt's face, spraying him with bits of spittle.

Matt couldn't stop the feral grin, "Yeah, yeah, I do." His hands came up, wrapping around the guy's wrist, pulling the gun not away, but down, "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker."

Matt wasn't aware of much until the ringing in his ears faded enough to hear the sound of his own voice shouting obscenities at the top of his lungs. The waves of pain finally hit his brain when he took his next breath. "FUCK! Oh holy FUCK, that fucking shit HURTS!" He rounded on McClane, "God fucking _dammit_, why the _fuck_ would you ever _do_ something like that?!"

John kept struggling against the ropes, trying to get to him, "Shit, kid, I told you _not to_!"

"It fucking _hurts_!"

"Of _course_ it fucking hurts, kid, you just _shot yourself_!"

Matt continued groaning and shouting four letter words as he stumbled the distance over to John, his good hand going to the ropes holding his partner's hands in place. "_Shit_, I'm never forgiving you for coming up with that bright idea."

"Well next time _shoot the other guy_, dipshit!"

"Stop fucking moving, asshole, I can't do this one handed when you keep pulling the fucking ropes tighter. I can't--"

"_You Shot Me_! You little fucking punk ass, you fucking _shot_ me!"

Matt and John both stopped and looked back to what they had thought was the dead body of their attacker.

"He's not dead?" Matt blinked, "Fuck, he's supposed to _die_ when you do that." He groaned and stumbled over to where he had dropped the gun, leaving John tied up for a moment while he snatched it up, groaning painfully as he bent over.

The guy (he'd never bothered to brag about his name or his genius during the attack, and didn't seem to know the names of either John or Matt) was on his side, curled around his gunshot wound in his right shoulder. He was spitting at Matt, kicking his legs towards the gun.

"You're supposed to be fucking _dead_." Matt reminded him, raising the gun.

"That only happens when you shot them in the _heart_, kid."

Matt glared over his shoulder, "Oh yeah, and how do you propose I _aim_ the gun _though my own chest_, huh?"

John snorted, "I did."

Matt rolled his eyes, "Yes, well can't all be John fucking McClane, now can we?"

"I can't believe you _shot me_, you little fucking _prick_!"

Matt rounded on his assailant again, his anger finally getting the best of him, "You can't believe _I_ shot _YOU_? You took me _fucking hostage_! You _kidnapped_ my fucking _boyfriend_! You tried to _blow up my computer_!" Matt drew back a foot and kicked the guy hard in the stomach, "I _killed_ the last guy who blew up my computer."

"_I_ killed the last guy who--"

"_I_ got his second in command, McClane, so shut it." Matt snarled.

"You fucking _shot me_!" The guy rolled further onto his side, trying to push up to his knees, "I'm gonna _kill you_, you little shit! And then I'm gonna go over and cut the fucking balls off the old man over there and then I'm gonna fucking kill _him_! And _then_\--"

Matt raised the gun and aimed, "Oh will you just fucking _shut up_!"

"Matt!"

"WHAT?" Matt turned only enough to glare at John, still in the chair, blood dripping into his eyes.

"Don't _kill_ him. The paperwork is _shit_ when you kill them."

Matt groaned, "McClane...!"

The guy finally made it onto his knees, and for a moment looked like he was going to try to lunge at Matt. McClane finally sighed, "Fine, in the leg. Shoot him in the leg."

"_Thank you_."

The guy screamed as two bullets ripped though his lower thigh, Matt barely having bothered to even turn and look before squeezing the trigger.

"You tried to _blow up my computer_!" he growled. "And my boyfriend!"

"You know, kid, I'm really starting to get a little hurt about your priorities, here."

Matt snorted, and started to say something mocking, but was quickly distracted by the guy's screams, which had deteriorated into more cursing as he rolled onto his back and trying to pull his knee to his chest. "I'm gonna fucking KILL--"

The gun went off again, this time the bullet hitting the guy's foot. His screams hit a new pitch.

Matt ignored him and turned back to John, "Next time don't try to run away, punk," he called over his shoulder.

"I fucking _didn't_!" he screamed.

"Yeah, well," Matt crouched down as best he could and started working on the knots around John's wrists again, "That's not what my report is gonna say, and I'm the one with the witness and a letter of thanks from the president." Matt could feel a manic little laugh tickling the back of his throat as he said it. He was flying high on adrenaline right now, but soon he was gonna crash, and crash hard. Tomorrow was gonna _suck_. In the distance the sound of police sirens grew closer, along with the distinctive blast of fire engines. The first of the SWAT teams came busting though the doors just moments after Matt finally got John's wrists free.

The first thing John did was walk over and kick the perp in the leg. Twice. "You ever lay a finger on the kid again, and you won't have to worry about your fucking leg, asshole."

When he turned back, Matt had taken his place on the chair, one hand pressed tightly to his bloody shoulder. John shook his head as he closed the distance again, "Tomorrow we start working on your aim."

He reached out and joined Matt's hand in applying pressure to the wound, causing a harsh groaning laugh from Matt. "Tomorrow you can go fuck yourself, McClane. I'm sleeping in." He shook his head, "I'm getting too old for this shit."

John didn't dignify that with a laugh.


End file.
